We took a family vacation to Seattle at the end of the summer in 2003. Ten days in the Seattle area (three spent on Orcas island) with Melissa, Esmé, and Jasmine. We don't get back too often. In 1998, when our family was only the three of us, we decided to go canoing on Lake Washington. There's a rec center at the far end of Husky Stadium parking lot. A few bucks for the canoe rental, with paddles and vests for Melissa and I and this cute little wrap-around life jacket for then 20-month old Esmé. Sun, water, lily pads, mountains. Perfect.
We tried it again in 2003. Not quite the same experience.
We used two canoes, because they would only allow two people per canoe. Esmé and I went in one, Melissa and Jasmine in the other. We took photographs. Sun, water, lily pads, and mountains again. It wasn't long before we remembered that I'd always been the one to steer. Years of experience at summer camp, including one summer navigating around Orcas Island. Steering a canoe was as natural as riding a bike for me.
It was a windy day. The wind was blowing hard from the northwest. It kept pushing us toward 520, toward the motorized boats heading in and out of the Montlake Cut.
I tried to coach Melissa a little. Paddle backwards to turn the canoe on that side, or, preferably, pull the paddle toward the side of the canoe, perpendicular, to turn it away.
Melissa would try to turn the canoe around. The wind would catch the length of the canoe, pushing her further away from shore. It was a strong wind. She would struggle to get the bow of the canoe to head straight into the wind. It was too windy. She was able to keep away from the large orange buoys that marked the boating lanes, but couldn't get the canoe turned around all the way so she could paddle back to shore. So she would stop, try turning other direction, swinging it all the way back around until the wind became a wall again.
We were both starting to get worried. I yelled across the water.
"Paddle harder. Paddle hard. It's hard work," I yelled. "It's a strong wind. You've got to paddle really hard."
She yelled back that she was paddling hard, as hard as she could.
"And stop yelling at me!"
We weren't out of the small bay yet, but we were close. We were certainly much farther out than I'd expected, and I didn't want to deal with being out on the larger expanse of Lake Washington.
I paddled up next to her until the two canoes were parallel, slowly moving closer until they were touching. Melissa was crying. My arms and back were sore from repeatedly digging into and back out of the wind. I told her that I'd get us back together. I would get us back to where the water was calm. Esmé leaned over in the front of our canoe and helped hold the two canoes together. Melissa grabbed on as well, at about the mid-point of our canoe, so I that I would have room to paddle on both sides.
I dug into the water. Leaning to my right, pulling hard, working both canoes against the wind, I finally managed to face the northwest shore. Switch the paddle to the other side, a few strokes to minimize momentum, then back to the right side, ready for the L-shape stroke that allows you to stay straight without switching the paddle back and forth so much. Ready to head into the wind. I asked Esmé to pick a spot on the horizon. Somewhere in front of us.
"The dark brown house, with all the windows," she said. "Next to the white one."
"That's our point," I told her. "Help me keep my aim. I'll be working on bringing us closer, so I'll need your help to keep us on point."
Jasmine piped up from the front of the other canoe. "I wanna help, too. I wanna do something."
I asked Jasmine to yell "stroke" for me. Melissa got her started. "Stir-oak. Stir-oak. Stir-oak." Our own little three-year-old coxswain.
Melissa and I apologized to one another -- repeatedly -- as we made our way safely back to shore. Sorry for yelling at you and sorry for yelling back and I was worried and I was scared. Together: I didn't know what to do. It's okay, now, though. We'll be okay
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